Misunderstandation
by hilarity.com
Summary: If someone wrote a book about me, claiming that I love pigs, cupcakes and Herbology, they could not be more incorrect. Welcome to my life. Meet the misunderstood me, Remus Lupin.
1. Chapter 1

**Misunderstandation**

_**Disclaimer:** I know nothing, I own nothing._

_A/N: Remus may seem slightly strange, but that's basically the point._

_Chapter 1: The beginning to all things whacky_

Don't you hate it when someone in your life decides to 'label' you?

Yeah, well, too bad for you if you don't share my opinion, because guess what? You're stuck with it! Yep. For the rest of this rant, too. So, good luck with that, alright?

Cool. Now that we've got that sorted, perhaps I can tell you about this whole 'labelling' issue?

Maybe an introduction will bode you well.

Basically, I'm in seventh year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I go by the name of Remus Lupin. Some call me 'Remy' or, if you're like Padfoot, 'Moony', but, whatever floats your boat. More on that later. Okay. Seventh-year, best friend of James Potter, Sirius Black, and one vertically-challenged Peter Pettigrew. I happen to be the more responsible one of our quartet, but McGonagall doesn't seem to view things the way I do. What can I say? Life's one big letdown, sometimes.

Especially when you're the misunderstood one.

Seriously, I've spent seven years at this school, and all this time, people think they've got me figured out. James calls me his 'quiet, no-nonsense bloke', which is just disturbing, because I'm no-one's bloke. Sirius likes to think that I'm his alarm clock, whereas Peter refers to me as his walking dictionary. See what I mean by the labelling issue?

Anyway, here I am, recording my laments in the midst of a Marauder conversation, filled with laughter, hand-waving and cupcakes. Yeah, Sirius likes his cupcakes. With lots of cherries. Don't ask me why.

"Remus, what are you writing in that tatty old thing?"

I look up, and give them a look, complete with raised eyebrows.

"This thing," I hold up by journal, "is called a book. Might help once in a while if you used the correct terms, Prongs." Then, I reach over and promptly whack him on the head. I knew this little gem was useful in more ways than one!

"Talk to us instead of write, would you, old boy?" Peter says, picking up a cupcake and sniffing it.

"What? Stop calling me that, Pete. Where did you learn something like that?" I ask, slightly shocked and annoyed. Firstly, I'm not old, and secondly, it's no great sin to write instead of talk.

"I heard Lily call her dog that the other day. In the Owlery," he responds nonchalantly, still on his quest: searching for the perfect and irreplaceable cupcake.

I roll my eyes, certain that James will start asking about his precious Head Girl in exactly…

3…2…1…

"Lily? You saw Lily? Wait, you talked to Lily? Did Lily ask about-"

"Shut up, Prongs. You said the poor girl's name about," Sirius chides, scratches his head while doing a mental count, and shrugs his shoulders in defeat. He continues munching his piece of chocolate cake, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"Four, Sirius. Four times. I counted," I say, simply because I'm the misunderstood one who is responsible and all that jazz.

I bet Prongs doesn't even realise that Lily doesn't have a dog. The guy hears her name, and all sense flies out the window. Or, in this case, into the fireplace and up the chimney. How do I know this? Because he still hasn't realised that Peter was just in the throes of a massive hallucination.

"James, just ask her out, would you? You're a desperate man, we're your desperate friends, and I am in desperate need of ranting, so get your skates on and do something about your single status before I hook you up with someone!"

I don't mean to yell at them; I just can't stand the guy moping after Lily for all eternity. Merlin knows, if he doesn't rip his thatch of hair out soon after his 56th rejection, I'll rip it out for him.

That's how desperate I am.

"Remus, if you're frustrated, you should know better than to take it out on your best mates. Talk, alright?" James says, patting my knee. If he thinks this is comforting, then he's got another think coming. Honestly, it's freaky.

"Fine. I'll talk. What do you want me to tell you? About the time I caught you and Sirius hexing each other at 2am on a Wednesday? Or would you like me to remind you about your detention with McGonagall on Saturday? Or, listen to this, how about the fact that I'm the most misunderstood person in the whole damn castle?" I explode.

Peter snorts. We all swing our heads to look at him, clearly thinking that he's insane. Well, I'm just mad that he interrupted me. And I was building up to such a fantastic climax, too. Prat.

He looks at us, before chuckling while saying, "Mis-understood. Ha! Get it? Miss Understood?" 

Sirius shakes Peter's shoulders at this stage, looking him in the eye and saying, "Mate, I think it's time to put away the cupcakes, alright? You're goin' a bit barmy there."

Pete then hands him the cupcake, obviously trusting his friend to put it down. Sad little bloke doesn't know what's coming. Sirius takes the titbit, backs away, and shoves the entire thing, cherries and all, down his gob. After he has digested this new piece of food, he turns towards me and we all resume our conversation about my pathetic, misunderstood life.

"No, I'm serious!" I cry out, before Padfoot interrupts my soon-to-be rant.

"No you're not. I am."

I sigh and shake my head, before getting to my feet and pacing the length of the common room. My friends, meanwhile, are blissfully unaware of my dilemmas, and continue their post-dessert/pre-supper meal. Charming, really. Watching the three of them eat brings to my mind a visit to a Muggle zoo, where several pigs were fighting over their daily grub. I'm telling you, the _oink_ing and weird sounds still haunt me to this day. Of course, the fact that my closest friends resemble this horrific bunch of animals when they are eating doesn't help.

"Guys, really. Everyone thinks I'm this boring old bloke who does nothing but read and eat and sleep and BE BLOODY RESPONSIBLE all day. As if I don't have anything better to do. Do they think I like being responsible? It's a tough job, you know," I begin, but stop when I realise that I can still hear the gulping and belching routine that belongs solely to Sirius Black.

"Hey! Cut it out! I'm trying to pour out my soul here, but it's kinda hard when you pigs are stuffing your faces in the corner!"

Damn. Now there's this awkward silence.

"You know what? Forget it. Writing's far easier," I tell them, sitting back down and putting my face in my hands. At once, I feel three pairs of hands comforting me, and I lift my head and smile at them, grateful for their friendship.

"Never fear, Remy, cupcake is here!" Sirius grins while handing me a cupcake.

I scowl at him in what I hope is a thundery expression. His smile may be endearing to some, but the name 'Remy' is hardly adorable.

_I haven't written in a while, so maybe this has been a bit shabby. However, I'd appreciate it very much if you could review and tell me how it went. Cheers!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Misunderstandation**

_**Disclaimer: **Not much to say, but by now you should all realise that I own only the ideas and nothing else._

_Chapter 2: Moping and overall insanity_

"Good _morning_, sunshine! And how are _you_ this morning?" an annoyingly bright voice chirps at me, startling me from my fantastically dreamless sleep.

I roll over and whack Sirius in the face, grunting a short, simple but not-so-sweet, "Sod off, Black."

"Fine. Don't have to be such a woman about it."

_Chauvinistic idiot. Doesn't he understand that I grumble MORE than Narcissa Black ever could? _

After some rare moments of silence, I open one eye slowly, only to meet the blinding sunlight.

"Aaargghgh!!! Bloody crapping hell! What is wrong with you people? Can you not resist keeping the curtains drawn? What does the sign say? **DRAW CURTAINS**!" I kick thin air for a few minutes after falling off my bed.

More silence. This is getting weird. Awful, in fact.

I open both my eyes this time, staring at the ceiling with what appears to be fascination. Sirius bends down and looks me in the eyes.

"Mate, you sound pretty awake to me. What do you reckon, boys?"

I sit upright, rubbing my sore head and cocking an eyebrow at the rest of the Marauders.

"Yep, wide awake he is, Padfoot!" James says ever-so-intelligently.

Then, of course, there's Peter. Now, who could ever forget Peter? Not me, I assure you. Not even if I wanted to, actually, and I want to do that in leaps and bounds.

"Hahahaah!!! Up, up and away, Remus! Right? RIGHT? _RIGHT?_" he says, sticking his face right up to mine, watery eyes and all. I swear I can even count the individual hairs in his eyebrows.

"Uh, right, but you know, Pete, could you perhaps give me a little bit of my OWN PERSONAL SPACE BACK?" I bellow at last, unable to tolerate his horrid breath any longer.

_Oh Merlin, I need to shower, need to shower, must get rid of stench, please give me my OWN PERSONAL BUBBLE back!_

I'm quite touchy about this invasion of personal space thing, in case you haven't realised by now. Anyway, I heave myself to my feet and throw my blankets onto my bed before heading to the bathroom.

In about half an hour, I come out fully dressed and begin packing my bag, ready for the big day ahead.

"Prongs, what's the day today?" I ask, getting _Hogwarts: A History_ off my bookshelf and into my bag hurriedly.

At this, all three friends of mine decide to simultaneously make choking sounds while nervously scratching their heads.

"Honestly? I dunno. How 'bout you, Sirius? Hey?"

Sirius shoots James a look that says _you-just-wait-I'll-sodding-MURDER-you-in-your-sleep_.

Abruptly, the guy swivels around and looks at Peter, prodding our rat-sized friend in the arm.

"Off you go now, Pete. Can't remember for the life of me what day it is today!"

They may be my friends, but I don't know what the heck is going on.

"Please, just…what day is it?" I repeat, my patience hanging by a thread.

Why do they have that look on their faces? You know, the ones that look like they've been asked a question by McGonagall that they should know the answers to, but don't, because they haven't studied? Those expressions that they only have on Monday mornings…

I stare. And stare. And keep on staring.

"It's Monday."

Right now, I couldn't give a damn if there's silence or not. I will still make my voice heard!

"IT'S BLOODY MONDAY AND NO-ONE THINKS TO TELL ME? ARE YOU ALL BONKERS? NUTCASES? MENTAL CASES? SHALL I CART YOU OFF TO GOOD OL' MUNGO'S NOW?"

Oh Merlin. It's MONDAY.

I rip off my scarlet and gold tie, drop my bag, and begin running circles around our dorm immediately. Meanwhile, my head is ringing with the realisation that it is Monday.

_Monday… Monday… Monday… Monday…_

"D'you think Moony's going to be alright?" I hear Peter asking worriedly in the distance.

"It'll pass," Sirius answers, a smug grin on his face that I'm just longing to wipe off.

_Uncaring git_.

James nods wisely, and my three so-called friends sit back and relax, watching me run strenuous laps around the dorm and having little bouts of panic attacks every now and then.

I hate Mondays.

* * *

_**Several hours and incidents later**_

"Remus, what happened to you? You look like you've been through a thunderstorm, man!" Frank Longbottom asks me, clearly astonished.

I grit my teeth and hold up my tattered and battered shoe, waving it around as I emphasise my words.

"I have NOT been through a thunderstorm, but I wish I had! Merlin, it'd be so much better than it being a Monday today!"

That's right. I have severe Monday-itus. This affliction of mine, as I like to call it, thought to visit me during one of my Sunday nights when I was in first year. It is at this point of my story-telling that I'd like to point out my deficient genes.

Anyway, on with the show!

So, un-literally speaking, has anyone ever had those days, (not Mondays, damnit, don't bring that up now!) where he feels like sitting his great big arse down on a couch and losing himself in a pile of rugs? Anyone? You know, those days where you feel insignificant and just want to lose sight of everybody else in the universe?

_I FEEL LIKE THAT NOW. I THINK THE FACT THAT IT IS **MONDAY** DOES NOT HELP, AT ALL!_

After a tragically rainy day, where I have fallen into a puddle of water not once, twice, or even thrice, but _seventeen _times, lost my Advanced Potions textbook and been poisoned at breakfast, is it any wonder that I'm moping around the Gryffindor common room?

Do you want to know what I'm doing now? Ha. Like I care. Even if you didn't want to know, I'm telling you, because I'm damn depressed at the moment and need to alleviate my fears of Snape-Eyes topping me in Potions. Banish the thought!

Okay. I'm sitting in the couch right next to the fireplace, unsuccessfully trying to suffocate myself with a pile of rugs. God knows where these things have been. My so-called friends are no help whatsoever. Haven't they heard of the phrase, 'Leave a man to die in peace?'

Judging by the infernal din that is Sirius's voice, I guess not.

"Moony, what do you say to a couple of laps around the Quidditch pitch, hey? That'll cheer you up, won't it?" James asks, looking at me in a concerned manner.

What is it with these people? I'm not five, for goodness sake!

I stare back calmly, or dazedly, however you like to think of it.

"No thanks, James. I'm quite happy here."

Sirius decides to intrude on our monotonic conversation.

"Well, why don't we head down to the kitchens? Lots to eat there!" he finishes happily.

Poor bloke. He's so into his food, I'd feel sorry for his future wife, if I wasn't so pathetically sympathising with my inner child at this moment. At this, I snigger abruptly. Hence the odd looks sent my way at the moment.

"What? I'm not interested. I'm quite happy here," I say. After a while, I add, "And, I don't want to be bloody poisoned again!" With this, I shoot Sirius a venomous glare.

He rolls his eyes in response. The nerve of him!

"Mate, it was Veritaserum. All in the name of fun, I swear. Thought you'd need it, what with it being a Monday and all."

I snort with incredulity. I have tons of that. Incredulity, I mean.

"It's my least favourite day of the week, and you guys thought it'd be funny for me to confess my deepest, darkest secrets to the entire Hogwarts population? No thanks, but I'm quite happy here, without running a risk of eating poisoned food again." I conclude, burrowing deeper into my self-made cocoon.

"Is that all you're going to say, Remus? Because, you know, I read somewhere once that people who drown themselves in rugs by the fire are in dire need of psychiatric help. Do you want me to call my psychiatrist, Moony?" Peter asks in what has to be his most serious tone to date. Which, quite honestly, scares the crap out of me.

"No thanks. I'm quite happy here."

You can guess who said _that_. And where did Wormtail come up with all that mumbo-jumbo business? He sounds weirder than Snape-Eyes when he says that.

With that thought, I leap out of my eternal prison of cloth and accidentally singe my hand on the fire.

"Ah, crap! That HURT!"

James, Sirius and Peter look quite happy at my awesome revival, but their faces immediately revert to their old worried expressions.

I guess it's because it's Monday, and I've suddenly taken to running around the common room, yelling, "Damn you, Snape-Eyes! YOU SHALL NEVER BE MY BETTER, NOT IN POTIONS, NEVEEERRRRR!"

I unabashedly admit that I howled the last syllable in a very werewolf-like fashion. Surprise, surprise.

Sighting my prey, who unfortunately happens to be Frank (poor, poor kid), I place my hands on his shoulders and shake his tiny form.

Needless to say, he passes out soon after.

Have I mentioned _just _how much I hate Mondays?

* * *

_Uh, that was just a bit of light-heartedness. And of course, my sad attempt at humour. Hope you liked it. And one must never forget to **REVIEW.**_


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